he bit her lips so as not to laugh, for
now Goujet had every chance of winning.

It was now Golden-Mug's turn. Before commencing, he gave the laundress
a look full of confident tenderness. Then he did not hurry himself. He
measured his distance, and swung the hammer from on high with all his
might and at regular intervals. He had the classic style, accurate,
evenly balanced, and supple. Fifine, in his hands, did not cut capers,
like at a dance-hall, but made steady, certain progress; she rose and
fell in cadence, like a lady of quality solemnly leading some ancient
minuet.

There was no brandy in Golden-Mug's veins, only blood, throbbing
powerfully even into Fifine and controlling the job. That stalwart
fellow! What a magnificent man he was at work. The high flame of the
forge shone full on his face. His whole face seemed golden indeed with
his short hair curling over his forehead and his splendid yellow beard.
His neck was as straight as a column and his immense chest was wide
enough for a woman to sleep across it. His shoulders and sculptured arms
seemed to have been copied from a giant's statue in some museum.
You could see his muscles swelling, mountains of flesh rippling and
hardening under the skin; his shoulders, his chest, his neck expanded;
he seemed to shed light about him, becoming beautiful and all-powerful
like a kindly god.

He had now swung Fifine twenty times, his eyes always fixed on the iron,
drawing a deep breath with each blow, yet showing only two great drops
of sweat trickling down from his temples. He counted: "Twenty-one,
twenty-two, twenty-three--" Calmly Fifine continued, like a noble lady
dancing.

"What a show-off!" jeeringly murmured Salted-Mouth, otherwise
Drink-without-Thirst.

Gervaise, standing opposite Goujet, looked at him with an affectionate
smile. _Mon Dieu!_ What fools men are! Here these two men were, pounding
on their bolts to pay court to her. She understood it. They were
battling with hammer blows, like two big red roosters vying for the
favors of a little white hen. Sometimes the human heart has fantastic
ways of expressing itself. This thundering of Dedele and Fifine upon the
anvil was for her, this forge roaring and overflowing was for her. They
were forging their love before her, battling over her.

To be honest, she rather enjoyed it. All women are happy to receive
compliments. The mighty blows of Golden-Mug found echoes in her heart;
they rang within her, a crysta